


Probably a Bad Idea

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 4x02 spoilers, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1886880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I - omitted- certain truths,” Stiles gasps as he’s pushed against Scott’s bedroom door.</p><p>What could have happened (what we were all thinking) during that scene of 117.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Probably a Bad Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, where I live the age of consent is 16, which is what I've taken Derek to be here. However, this might squick some people, so I'm telling you here: Derek is 16, Stiles is 17.
> 
> Contains vague spoilers for 4x02? Possibly? No plot is revealed, but it takes place within that time frame.

“I - omitted- certain truths,” Stiles gasps as he’s pushed against Scott’s bedroom door. Derek is so close behind him and he shuts his eyes, which are stinging at the not-quite familiar feeling of this younger Derek pressed close behind him.

“Vital truths, now that I’m thinking about it.” He’s babbling like he used to around Derek, before he knew who Derek was because Derek hasn’t scared him this much for quite a while.

He realises with some disgust that he’s hard.

 _He’s a child._ Stiles thinks. _He’s a child._

Except he isn’t. This Derek is less than a year younger than him - if that - and fuck but Stiles is terrified and really, really turned on.

Derek takes a breath behind him, about to say something, but doesn’t. He sniffs again, and Stiles’ eyes fall shut. Shame and arousal twist in his stomach and lower. There’s breathing too close to his ear, and then Derek is talking.

“You smell like me.” Derek breathes in again, nose suddenly buried against Stiles’ neck. “Why?”

Stiles’ overactive brain scrambles for words. “I, uh. You,” His arms are bent up, pinned between him and the door. He doesn’t try and move them. “We’re –”

“We’re mates, aren’t we?” Derek is talking very quietly now, and the warm puffs of air against his ear are too familiar. “You’re mine.” Stiles nods.

Derek doesn’t release him. He presses closer, stepping flush against Stiles’ back. “It’s faint. My scent.”

“You were gone.” Stiles says into the door. “You were gone for weeks. Longer than normal.”

He swears he can feel Derek smiling against his neck and holy fuck there are teeth and he’s missed Derek, he missed Derek and this and everything that was beginning to feel normal. Derek’s lips press against the pulse in his neck and his heart rate jumps.

_This is a really bad idea. A really bad-_

Derek presses closer then, and it’s enough to make Stiles’ whole body shudder. It’s weirdly familiar and so different and he isn’t sure if he wants to bang his head against the door or turn around and beg Derek to fuck him. He whimpers slightly.

Derek shushes him. “There are people downstairs.”

Then he shoves a hand down the front of Stiles’ pants.

It’s all Stiles can do not to shout out – Derek’s clearly less experienced than his older self, his normal self, but his hand’s hot and dry and grasps at him though his boxers and he’s fit himself against Stiles’ back, dry heat bleeding through Derek’s thin shirt and Stiles’ thicker one and Derek’s rubbing his cock through his shorts and it’s more than Stiles can take.

Stiles groans, pressing his head to the door. “Do it.” He says.

“Do what?” Derek has his thumb, and just his thumb, hooked over the top of Stiles’ boxers.

Stiles has his lower lip clamped between his teeth to keep himself quiet. “I don’t- You always know. What you want.” He stutters out the last few words and briefly considers twisting round and making Derek do _something._

Almost as if he hears that thought Derek scratches the skin above his waistband with blunt nails and grinds against Stiles. He pushes Stiles’ pants and boxers down and grunts into his ear.

“Don’t. Move.”

He’s gone suddenly, and Stiles is left pressed against the door, his back cold and his arms beginning to cramp, uncomfortably folded between him and the door.

Derek’s gone long enough for Stiles to get uncomfortable, standing half naked against Scott’s bedroom door.

Oh god. Scott.

The thought’s enough to make him push away from the door, but he gets just a flash of dark green before he’s thrown against the door again, not as hard as the first time but less controlled, less careful.

Derek licks at his ear. “No.”

“Derek this is Scott’s room,” His voice pitches up embarrassingly high at the end. Derek’s hand is wrapped around his cock and his hand is slippery and cooler than it was before and Derek isn’t moving his hand, just flexing the muscles there like he could move it, if he only wanted. “Derek...” Stiles whines, rocking his hips into Derek’s hand and Derek lets him, lets him rut into his hand like an _animal._

Stiles barely realises Derek’s other hand isn’t touching him until there’s a fingertip pushed into him, cool and slippery, and he bites his lip so hard at the feeling he thinks he’s bleeding.

His nails -blunt, human nails- are scratching at Scott’s door and he flushes with humiliation at the realisation that Scott’s going to know what happened here. He feels terrible for a moment, but Derek squeezes his hand and pushes another finger into him and he has to choke back a cry.

Derek lets go of his cock for a moment and twists away, and when he presses back against Stiles he adds another finger to the ones already inside him, flexing them roughly. Stiles whimpers quietly and Derek presses his lips to his neck by way of an apology, and the familiarity of the gesture makes Stiles’ head spin.

Derek’s fingers are gone now, and the hand that was wrapped around his cock slides around to settles against his hip. Stiles’ eyes flutter open and he moans as loudly as he dares, trying to push his hips back onto Derek.

“Nu-uh.” Derek pushes his hip and he’s pressed against the door with no leeway. Derek bites at the back of his neck and begins to push into him.

And fuck but Stiles missed this, missed Derek, missed everything. Derek’s barely halfway in but it’s been _weeks_ and his head is spinning from everything. The hand that was pushing his hip into the door snakes around and begins to clumsily jerk at him and this inelegance is what reminds Stiles that although it’s Derek behind him it’s also a teenager, someone younger than him, if only by a few months.

Derek is fucking him now, slowly moving his hips and trying to find some sort of rhythm. It’s irregular and slightly uncomfortable and Stiles can’t remember the last time he was this hard.

Derek’s a _teenager._ Derek is sixteen and still effortlessly manipulating him into a shivering mess – because that’s what he is now; he’s all but rutting against the door and he’d be babbling a string of filth if he didn’t have to be utterly silent and he wants to scream.

 And then Derek starts talking.

“Are you always like this?” He breathes, and Stiles can hear the strain in his voice but Derek’s not giving. “Utterly obscene?” Derek thrusts and pauses, pressed as close to Stiles as he can through their clothes. Derek’s still almost fully clothed with just his jeans open, and Stiles only just realises this. “I wanted to do this as soon as I saw you.” He moves again, and he’s found something of a rhythm, enough that Stiles is having trouble thinking.

“Derek please.” Stiles is being too loud, he knows, but he can’t help it. “Just let me–”

Derek brings a hand up to cover Stiles’ mouth and Stiles can smell himself on it. “Shhh.” Stiles shuts his mouth and tries to hold still. The hand that covered his mouth is buried in his hair now, and Derek tugs sharply at it. He lets his head loll back against Derek’s shoulder and Derek, seemingly encouraged by this display of vulnerability, bites down on his neck.

Stiles shudders and arches his neck so Derek can do it again and he does, teeth just slightly sharper than normal, sharp enough that Stiles can feel the difference.

It takes this and a final flick of Derek’s wrist and Stiles is coming, biting his lips and squeezing his eyes shut, a barely-there moan slipping past his closed lips.

He can feel Derek coming too. Derek’s teeth are still clamped around his neck and Stiles knows there’s going to be a bruise. He sags against the door, feeling Derek’s weight against his back, and breathes out slowly.

Brain flickering on, Stiles realises Derek hasn’t moved. He shifts slightly, finding Derek’s hands, and pulls his arms around his waist.

“C’mon, Derek.” Stiles mumbles, voice wrecked from not shouting and how does that even _happen_ _?_  “We’ve gotta-”

“Oh shut _up_.” Derek groans behind him. “I will gag you.”

Stiles refuses to think about that. “Yeah okay. You can totally do that later.” Is what he says instead.


End file.
